Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1)

by Justin DePaoli

  The drone careened toward Leon. “Yes.”

  “Thought you couldn’t do that?”

  “I believe, as humans might say, not everything is black and white.”

  Leon grinned. That damn drone’s growing on me. “Not when it concerns Machines. Seems like everything would be zeroes and ones.”

  “That is an old way of looking at things, Major General.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You have some questions to answer, drone.” He headed toward the facility, clutching the cradle of Vaunton cubes to his chest. “Let’s get in there and get out before any more Machines show up.”

  Droll fell into position ahead of him and Orissa, his metal wings rotating as he slipped between the half-moon doors.

  “So,” said Leon, showing off his battle scar. “What do you think? Is this a bad look? A hole burned through my jacket and shirt?”

  “If you want me to tell you to take it all off… well, it might be more comfortable.”

  He pumped his brows. “For me, or for you?”

  Orissa rolled her eyes and stole ahead.

  “Mm, the tension!” he said, stifling a laugh. Oh, how I love making her feel uncomfortable.

  “No, that feeling is the chip slowly and insidiously reprogramming your brain to operate like a Machine.”

  He stopped dead. “That’s not funny.”

  She looked back, feigning innocence. “Sometimes the truth isn’t very funny.” Leon caught a vanishing grin as she headed for the facility.

  It was remarkable how well most of the fortress—a term that seemed best to describe this place—had held up to an explosion of mylosynicide. The blast was contained on the floor in which it erupted. Those above and below it showed little signs of stress or compromised structural integrity, besides the occasional crack spidering across the ceilings and walls.

  In the bottom chamber, Droll and Orissa beelined it for the vault containing the vats of mylosynicide, while Leon brought the array of Vaunton cubes to a shelf spanning the width of the room. The shelf straddled a cluster of computers enclosed in glass. Each computer was essentially a stack of blade servers within a metal cabinet. A bulge of cables emerged from the top of the cabinets, connecting each stack of servers with one another.

  Leon placed the array of soldered Vaunton cubes above the cradle, lowering it slowly so as to perfectly align the pins of the cradle with the slots on the bottom of the cubes. When the array clicked into place, he stood back, wiping his hands.

  “That’s done. Now, what are the chances this thing still works?”

  “The electricity here is well-supplied by six RTGs,” said Droll, coming out of the vault. “A preliminary scan reveals working connections, but I am unable to determine if the hardware is operable.”

  “We have ten vials of mylosynicide,” said Orissa, stepping out behind Droll. “One bead of the stuff in each. I think that’ll be enough.”

  Leon frisked the computer. “Cases are sealed in glass, so there’s no dust getting in there. How the hell do you turn it on, though?”

  “Maybe this switch?” suggested Orissa, leaning into the shelf and flicking on a switch above the Vaunton cubes.

  A series of beeps droned from within the glass, and thin strips of neon blue lights activated across each server blade. Leon expected to hear the roar of high-powered fans kicking on, but the computer was silent.

  “No cooling means this thing will overheat in seconds,” he said.

  “That is thermal-insulated glass. Its supercooling properties have been observed to reduce oven temperatures from 1500 degrees to fifty in 6.2 seconds.”

  Orissa whistled. “That’s impressive.”

  “It was made possible only through your contributions, Doctor Servoni.”

  “My contributions? Surely you’re—”

  The massive monitor flashed on, interrupting Orissa. A string of words appeared in small white font.

  Project Hydra

  Property of the United States Armed Forces

  If this system does not detect a matching biometric handprint in 25 seconds, it will shut down.

  By the time Leon realized there was a hand reader present on the shelf, the countdown had dropped to twenty.

  “Maybe the biometrics are screwed up,” he said, flattening his hand on the scanner. He shrugged at Orissa. “Worth a shot.”

  Lasers scanned his hand geometry. With a pleasant chime, the screen changed from an ominous black background with plain text to a graphical user interface with menus and buttons.

  From the speakers built into the monitor came a robotic voice. “Welcome… Major General Leon Imus. It has been… four hundred and ninety-four years, three hundred and sixty-four days, twelve hours and two minutes since your last login. Facial recognition suggests Doctor Orissa Servoni is present.”

  Leon stared at the screen, attention slowly shifting to Orissa. Silence encapsulated them, a shared disbelief. Or fear.

  “What—” He shook his head, thoughts jumbled. “What is this thing?”

  “My name is Hydra,” replied the computer. “I am a virtual intelligence unit built by order of the United States Government, under legal possession of the United States Armed Forces.”

  Orissa placed her hands on the shelf, leaning in. “How do you know who we are?”

  “Doctor Servoni, your biometrics and facial recognition were uploaded to my memory on 9-6-2078. Major General Imus, your biometrics and facial recognition were uploaded to my memory on 9-6-2078. The drone belonging to—”

  “All right, all right,” said Leon, cutting off the long-winded Machine. Knuckle to his teeth, he speculated. His emotions right now weren’t important, fierce and fervent and confusing though they were. Push them aside, he told himself. I have a computer brain to pick.

  “What do you know about the Atlas Mountains?” he asked.

  “The Atlas Mountains are a mountain range located on the continent of Africa, extending—”

  “Stop,” said Leon. “There’s something there involving humanity.”

  A pause. “I am sorry, but I have no information about that.”

  Leon sighed.

  “What’s your purpose?” asked Orissa.

  “Originally, I existed to facilitate vital information between VIPs across the echelons of the United States Government. However, during the Rise, I was rebuilt with the intent to model Machine invasions, determine appropriate action, and store critical security information.”

  I should rephrase the question.

  “Hydra,” said Leon, “can you show me on the screen everything you know about the Atlas Mountains?”

  A massive list of hyperlinks appeared, stretching from top to bottom.

  “Ignore publicly available information,” said Orissa.

  All but four of the links disappeared.

  Persistence of Consciousness (Recorded)

  The Server (Recorded)

  Viability of Cryogenics (Recorded)

  The Governor (Recorded)

  “I think this is going to be worth being shot in the chest over,” said Leon.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Orissa cautioned.

  He’d turn her into an optimist yet. “Hydra, let’s see the first recording.”

  “That file has been corrupted.”

  Leon groaned. “How about the server recording?”

  “That file has been corrupted.”

  His head hung. “Viability of Cryogenics?”

  “That file has been corrupted.”

  Orissa crossed her arms over her chest. “Play the Governor recording.”

  Leon expected Hydra to utter those robotic words again, that the file had been corrupted. To his pleasant surprise, the screen flickered and a picture appeared.

  Sitting at the long, round table behind him were six people dressed like officials from the military or government, in suits and uniforms. He went down the line, looking at each face. His blood ran cold when he saw his own.

  His hair was short, neatly parted. Th
e navy-blue uniform he wore exaggerated his broad shoulders. The cuffs were threaded with gold, matching the buttons running down the center. Flags from countless missions and battles and maybe even wars adorned his left breast, above a pocket from which hung silver medals.

  Across from him was none other than Orissa. She was in a dress, beautiful as ever. Her hair was tied back, her eyes creased into a scowl that could kill faster than bullets.

  “What is this?” Leon demanded. “What are you showing—”

  The picture moved.

  The recording began.

  A slender woman hefted her elbows up at the head of the table. An American flag was pinned to her suit. She motioned to another man with a flowing white beard and crow’s feet nested under his eyes. “Doctor Varugus, please.”

  The mythical Mattias Varugus stood. He wore a wool sweater and black pants, the only one among the six who wasn’t dressed for the occasion.

  “The Injector is not yet ready, I’m afraid, Madam President.” Mattias’s voice sounded like it had come from the core of the Earth itself, a deep baritone that Leon imagined one would feel in one’s bones standing next to him.

  The president hung her head. “That’s unfortunate.”

  An official from the military, sitting beside Leon, leaned forward. “New models show we have fifteen days before the Machines seize the Quads.”

  “So ten days,” said the past Leon.

  The present Leon looked to Orissa. “Is that how I sound?”

  “Shush.”

  “Not a single damn model has been worth its salt,” said past Leon.

  “The Injector functions,” explained Doctor Varugus, “but not ideally.”

  The past Orissa steepled her hands. “We don’t need it to function ideally.”

  “I agree, Doctor Servoni. But as it stands, it invokes errors in a fraction of a fraction of Machines. It’s simply not good enough yet.”

  A balding man in a sleek black suit cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “There is good news among the bad.” The way he smiled made Leon shiver.

  It’s how I imagine the devil would smirk, he thought.

  “Mr. Kravst,” said the president, nodding. “Go on.”

  The man stood with another adjustment of his tie. “Mrs. President! A salute to you on this fine day. RayTech Solutions has finished our component of the Governor. I present to you, PENS: Persistent Electromagnetic Nano Shield. Or as you’ve termed it so ineloquently, the electromagnetic pulse shield.”

  From his lap he produced a metal sphere that fit in the palm of his hand. An icy blue eye simmered in the center.

  He waited, as if for applause. When none came, he continued with a sniff. “When activated, the electromagnetic shield encompasses a radius of two point five miles. The electromagnetic field is constant and incapacitates any electrical components passing through it.”

  “It’s safe for humans to pass through?” asked the president.

  “Of course it’s safe! What’s more, once deployed, the shield will last four hundred and ninety-five years. There were… ways to extend its lifespan, but it came at too high a cost. There is a give and take with these things. Trust me, Mrs. President, you’ve no idea how irksome it is to know your product has an odd-numbered lifespan.”

  That number drew interest from every head at the table.

  “That’s fantastic,” said the president.

  Past Orissa was less enthused. “Four hundred and ninety-five years—how do you know that?” she asked.

  Full of suspicions, thought Leon. That’s Orissa all right.

  The man—Mr. Kravst—smiled. “We’ve put this technology through a battery of tests, Doctor Servoni. How do you know the age of a mosquito fossilized in amber despite humans having not existed then?”

  “Exomethylene signatures,” replied Orissa. “Your methods are…?”

  Another smile. Mr. Kravst clasped his hands. “Doctor Servoni, I assure you—”

  “Enough,” said the president. “Major General Imus, your report on the Core, please.”

  Leon stood and locked his hands behind his back. “We have made no progress, Mrs. President. The Core has proved to be an exceptionally difficult beast to locate.”

  “Beast,” said Mr. Kravst with a snort. “It’s a damn computer, not some swamp creature.”

  Leon lifted his chin. “With all due respect, Mr. Kravst, I’ve lost over five thousand men and women searching for this thing. I’ll damn well call it whatever I please.”

  The president stood. Hands like knives, she pointed at Leon and Mr. Kravst. “Sit and sit. We all knew the Core would be difficult to find. We knew the Injector would be a technological feat, and those things are not easily accomplished. But we have the EMP shield. That buys us time. A lot of time.

  “Understand that billions have died, and billions more will die. Most people today will not be alive in two weeks. We’re not working on saving them anymore. We’re working to save the future human race.”

  That sobering outlook dropped the head of every man and woman in the room, both in the past and present. Leon knew what Orissa was thinking, that the council of experts and officials had failed. If you weren’t an eternal optimist, it was simply a matter of math.

  The project they’d deemed the Governor hadn’t been completed, and the electromagnetic pulse shield lasted four hundred and ninety-five years. Given it’d been four hundred and ninety-four years since Leon’s last login to Hydra, time was running out.

  If humans were still around, they’d…

  A revelation hit Leon like a bullet to the chest, a comparison he was well-qualified to make. “Hydra, pause! God, Orissa,” he said, looking at her gaped-mouth. “The Machines know. They know!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Excitement roiled him, but it wasn’t the good kind. He fitted, unable to stand still, hands doing more talking than his mouth. “Four hundred and ninety-five years. That’s how long the EMP shield is good for. Pretty big coincidence that it’s been nearly exactly that number of years and now suddenly the Machines are waking up. They knew… somehow, they knew this was when the shield would fail. They’re going to hunt down the remaining humans.”

  “Leon,” she said, her tone measured. “If we were so important as to be at that table, and we were caught…” She shrugged her hands, letting the implication linger.

  “It could be that… maybe—” He pursed his lips, frustrated at his sudden verbal seizure. He swore under his breath, returning his attention to the frozen screen. “Hydra, resume.”

  The president was still standing, hands clasped in front of her. “I move to close this discussion and open dialog on a topic that needs a resolution.” She paused. “Doctor Varugus, has your team made any progress on the inherit problems of stored consciousness?”

  The doctor’s pointy chin rested on his steepled hands. “This is a discussion I believe Doctor Rebecca Servoni should be present for.” Leon side-eyed Orissa. Her reaction was mute, thoughts unreadable. “Orissa, your mother—have you seen her?”

  “No,” said past Orissa. “I got in last night and haven’t had contact with her since.”

  “Hydra,” said present Leon, “pause.” He pointed to Orissa on the screen, and glanced at Orissa in the flesh. “You’re lying.”

  She responded with a heavy sigh. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your eyes. Look at them.”

  She stared hard at the screen before shaking her head in annoyance. “I just see eyes, Leon.”

  Leon climbed onto the shelf, tapping his finger on past Orissa’s face. “Hydra, reverse by five seconds.”

  The video began to play again at the point of Doctor Varugus’s question on Rebecca’s whereabouts.

  Midway into Orissa’s answer, Leon ordered Hydra to pause. “Right there,” he said, tapping forcefully on the screen. “You look away as you answer him, sheepish as I’ve ever seen you.”

  Orissa remained unmoved, arms still crossed.
“You’ve seen me for a whole two weeks, Leon.”

  “Point still stands.”

  Judging by the clenching of her jaw and deep breaths that gave rise to her shoulders and breasts, Leon knew he was walking a fine line between making a point and needling her until she burst.

  “If you’re suggesting I was holding a secret about my mother’s whereabouts then, what difference does it make now? I clearly don’t remember. Hydra,” said Orissa, “resume.”

  “Hydra,” called Leon, “pause.”

  “Hydra—”

  “Would you just wait a damn minute?” Leon snapped.

  There’s that scowl, he thought at the knitting of her brows and crease of her mouth.

  “You can be a very annoying person, Leon Imus.”

  “Maybe so,” he conceded. “But hear me out, would you?” Knees aching, he clambered off the shelf. “From what past you said in this video, you got into town the previous night. Presumably, you checked into the apartment you shared with your mother. And I’d guess you noticed her missing. Probably you saw her laptop sitting in the bedroom.” He lifted his brows suggestively.

  Orissa hooked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. “And? You think I spied on my mother?”

  “I think you took a peek. Saw something there that told you where she was.”

  “Ignoring that Doctor Varugus and my mother seemed very close, ignoring that he had helped cover up my father’s murder… did you forget the data on the laptop is locked away behind a soldered-on Vaunton cube? We can’t decrypt it, so whatever information is on there is as inaccessible as the secrets I might be holding onto in the deep recesses of my brain.”

  Droll whirred by. “Actually, Doctor Servoni—while Vaunton cubes were notable for their hard-to-crack encryption techniques, experiments in artificial intelligence during the Rise showed a standard Vaunton cube could be cracked within a mean of ten seconds. If you would like, I can decrypt the cube in question and interface with the data onboard.”

  Leon nearly jumped at that offer himself, but stilled himself at the last second. This wasn’t his decision to make. Unless Orissa decided to be stubborn. While she considered, he had a burning question to ask.